


A Proper Send-Off

by Dancains



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Victorian Cruising, possibly canon compliant?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 03:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/pseuds/Dancains
Summary: BeforeTerrorleaves for the Arctic, there is something Edward must do.





	A Proper Send-Off

Edward usually avoided the harsh sting of whiskey--he didn't indulge in drink much altogether, really--but if there was any night for it, this was it.

The day after next, he would be boarding _HMS Terror_ and leaving England, possibly for as long as five years, and would be left with no opportunity to seek out what he was looking for tonight, or at least no opportunity he might conceivably take up.

He had never lain with another man aboard a Royal Navy ship. The idea alone was unthinkable. 

He sat at a table by himself in the corner, covertly surveying the pub. It was a typical place of its type--a molly house, as they were called--dimly lit and simmering with low, furtive conversation. 

Why was it so hard, he wondered, to give in to this thing he so desired? It wasn't if he hadn't before. But, all the same, he had sat for hours in establishments like this without talking to a soul, without seeing a man that was truly to his liking. How foolish for him to try to be discerning, when really it should only matter that he was looking for a warm body, and there were plenty to be found.

He downed the rest of his drink, grateful for the distraction of something burning like liquid gold in his belly, and cast his eyes about for nearly a dozenth time. His heart nearly stopped in its pace. In the yellowed, guttering gaslight he could make out a striking profile, young and sharp, and in Edward's mind, excruciatingly handsome. As if feeling a tangible weight from his gaze, the man glanced over at him, the glint of pale, intelligent eyes showing for only a brief, tantalizing second.

Hazarding a second glance a moment later, Edward watched him absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his pewter tankard with one finger. Even from the short distance he could see the man had graceful, masculine hands. Would they be smooth and supple, or thickly calloused from years of labor? Edward drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, averting his attention lest the man see that he was staring.

In another corner, he could spy two young men making themselves evidently agreeable towards each other, one with a hand high on his compatriot's thigh, under the table but quite visible from Edward's point of vantage, something like a smirk playing across his lips. Just the sight stirred his blood, imagining what they might get up to after leaving the pub, their two mouths now so close their drink-soaked breath must have been mingling. An uncomfortable stab of shame ran through him for playing the part of a voyeur, even if unintentionally.

He was peering down at his empty glass, trying to decide whether to get himself another, when he noticed the first man looking at him again, this time steadily, as if truly inspecting him up and down, from the shine of his shoes up to the careful part in his hair. Breath hitching in his throat, Edward held firm, trying his best to silently express his mutually piqued interest.

Finally, after a harrowing stretch of a moment, the man demurely looked away. Studying him still, Edward discerned that his hair was coal-black, a singular contrast with his light colored eyes, and that the way a few strands came loose to hang over his face gave him a deceptively boyish air, offset by his neat sideburns, and thick brows.

Edward thought of years and years at sea, a ship cutting through ice and the cold emptiness of a lieutenant's bunk. He thought of the beautiful man in front of him, and a memory that might bring him some sweet modicum of warmth on those long nights to come. Gathering all of his internal strength, even in spite of the panicking nerves that plagued him, he stood.

"Might I...might I buy you a drink?"

To his excitement, the man gave a small smile, and nodded. _"Please."_ Just one word from his lips, and Edward found himself utterly charmed.

He soon returned with two blood-colored glasses of Madeira. It had been so long since he'd attempted this, that the first few steps felt rusty, uncertain. His previous recollections blurred together, flashes of dark chambers and men's white hands.

The man tilted his head. "Could I ask your name? Or not, if you don't--"

"Edward," he said stupidly, any self-preservation lost at the sight of this dark Adonis. Anonymity was, more often than not, the usual practice in this sort of circumstance.

"Mine's Thomas," the man replied. It was undoubtedly a lie, but a pleasant sounding one all the same. There was a rough edge to the words that couldn't be disguised--that set something in him dangerously alight.

Later on, Edward couldn't remember for the life of him precisely what small talk they had made, only that he found Thomas to be immensely agreeable, and rather gentlemanly in manner--even if he clearly didn't have the pedigree of one. From the contrast of his care-worn clothes and clean, starch-stiff collar, he assumed Thomas might be a clerk, or perhaps someone who worked in a shop. He wouldn't have had a difficult time selling something to Edward, at the least.

At some point Thomas reached out, between their two half-drunk glasses, and dragged his fingers across the back of Edward's hand where it lay on the table, almost lazily. Though he feigned innocence well, Edward was sure the man knew the effect he would produce. The touch was no less explosive than a lit match taken to a powder keg.

There was an inn next door, that Edward suspected was often used by men like them, with an innkeeper evidently so far in his cup he probably wouldn't recall their faces anyway. Edward paid the shilling for a room. Thomas' eyes went wide at the glint of coins for the briefest of seconds, though he didn't protest.

The moment he had latched the door behind them, Thomas' fingers were clenched in the front of his clothes, pulling them together in a rough, fiery embrace. The scrape of stubble against his lips, before their lips slotted together properly, sent a spark straight to Edward's groin. Instinctively, his hands came to the small of Thomas' back, feeling beads of rain on the wool from their brief sojourn outside. 

He heard himself moan, a desperate, keening sound, strange to his own ears, as Thomas pressed his tongue in between the line of his lips, wetly intruding into his warm mouth. Why, oh God, was it only the sterner sex that aroused these feelings in him? He was truly depraved, Edward thought. But if that was so, he had just found himself a companion as equally enthusiastic in this depravity. 

Gradually, Thomas disentangled himself, one palm still flat on Edward's chest. "Are you alright?"

Edward hadn't realized he'd been shaking. With pleasure, or fear, or the chill of the night--he wasn't sure.

"You have done this before?" Thomas asked, terribly gentle. 

Edward's heart lodged itself in his throat. Why should Thomas care? "Yes. It's been...a very long while since, though."

Thomas nodded, a fleck of water still caught in his eyelash. He smoothed a curling lock of hair from Edward's brow, keeping his hand in Edward's hair as he slowly kissed him again. The tentative sweetness of it was almost more frightening than the pure, carnal desire that had defined all of Edward's past assignations. It felt like an imitation of love.

Gradually, he gave himself over to it, being touched kindly and touching in return, allowing his hands and his mouth to explore all the fine planes and valleys of Thomas' face and neck, letting his own fingers card through the man's short, silken hair.

Looking to him all the while for any possible objection, Thomas' dexterous hands disrobed him of his coat, deftly working apart the pearl buttons of the waistcoat underneath. It felt as if a revelation, for Thomas to touch him underneath his shirt, evidently taking great pleasure in an abdomen made strong from many hours of riding, and the hair that made a line up his sternum. He let out a half-smothered sound into Thomas' neck, as the man's thumb brushed with purpose against one of the slight peaks of his nipples, then the other.

"I want--I want to see you bare," Edward murmured, fingering the hem of his companion's waistcoat.

Thomas pulled away, and Edward was afraid he had done something to upset or offend him. The other man crossed the small room and set to work lighting the lamp next to the bed. Edward could smell the familiar scent of whale oil burning, as Thomas was soon illuminated in soft light. He smiled mischievously at Edward, white teeth shining. The small flame suddenly made it all feel even more tangible than what they had been doing in the near-dark.

It only fully dawned upon Edward what his purposes had been, when Thomas' hand went to his neckcloth, already loosened from their activities, and pulled it off completely. Edward watched, heart thundering as forcibly as the storm outside, as Thomas stripped himself of his clothes, piece by piece, revealing a lean, muscled body, patterned with an inviting spread of dark hair.

He moved toward Thomas as if pulled by magnetism, shedding his own shirt in the process. Thomas pulled him forward by his hips, angling them into a kiss at the same moment Edward could feel the hard jut of Thomas' prick against his clothed thigh, then, after some shifting, more insistently against his own hardness. 

From there, it flowed naturally; divested of remaining trousers and small clothes, their two bodies were free to tangle upon the sheets, moving together at a heightened, quickening pace. With other men, Edward had only sought and returned pleasure with his hand or mouth, but that night Thomas had laid back and spread his bent legs, slicked himself with lamp oil, and gently urged Edward's length into him.

It was as if each and every one of Edward's nerves sang as he took his fill, body quaking and stuttering as Thomas ran blunt nails down his back, keening back into every frenzied thrust. The things he whispered in Edward's ear all the while, as if of some stream of thought he couldn't silently withhold, were absolutely lurid--enough to bring a rose-colored heat to the sailor's face. 

The knowledge that this man desired him so, and took such great satisfaction from what Edward was doing to him--with him--was overwhelming. He wasn't sure how long it went on, until the exquisite tightness of Thomas' body, and the adoration in his heavy-lidded, open-mouthed gaze, compelled Edward into spending, feeling as if he was spilling every drop of his very soul. Still reeling, he let Thomas guide his hand to the stiff, dripping prick between them, watching with wonder as a few short strokes brought Thomas to his own trembling climax, clenching around Edward.

Afterwards, they pulled the bed linens around them to ward off the cold, Edward tenderly carding his fingers through the hair upon Thomas' chest as he listened to the patter of rain against the window. He had never seen such a look of serene contentment as now graced his companion's face. As a realization washed over him, his own visage must have only shown despair.

"I wish I could see you again. I wish I wasn't going away."

Thomas turned his body to face him, fingers curling around Edward's bicep as if to root him firmly in place. "Are you...going home, then? I do not imagine you are from Greenhithe."

"Not home--on a sea voyage. A very long one." He let out a long-held breath. "I am an officer in Her Majesty's Royal Navy." It was usually his sole pride, but now he pronounced it bitterly.

He thought he heard something tight in Thomas' throat. The hand at his arm went lax.

Thomas leaned in towards him, whispering against his lips. "I very much would have liked to see you again. If fate had only allowed us."

 

Thomas left some time in the night, as Edward had been sleeping. It had not been his intention to stay. When he was awoken by the sun's first morning rays, he dressed himself quickly and departed as inconspicuously as he could, procuring a Hanson cab some streets away to return him to his rented rooms, where his uniform and sea chest laid in wait. Even if their official departure was not until the next morning, Monday the nineteenth, there was much for Terror's first lieutenant to do aboard in preparation.

He tried his best to will Thomas to the back of his mind, focusing on tasks laid in front of him. It should have been the most exciting day of his life, knowing the prestigious discoveries that should lie ahead--not to mention the promotion of rank that he should likely receive upon his return--but still he was left with a perpetual tang of melancholy upon his tongue.

Even his captain, the infamously gloomy Ulsterman, seemed to be in far higher spirits.

"Lieutenant Little," Crozier greeted him warmly, catching him in the officer's corridor. The ship around them was a flurry of overwhelming activity, and Edward had sought to escape to his cabin for just a moment. "Why don't you join me for a whiskey, in the great cabin? To celebrate."

The last thing Edward needed was liquor in his near-empty stomach, nor a tangible reminder of where he had been just the night before. "Of course, Sir. Thank you."

When they crossed the threshold, a solitary man was already inside, no doubt the captain's personal steward, his back turned as he set books and maps into their proper cupboards and shelves. Edward had read over the ship's registry countless times, what had his name been? Johnson? Jameson? No, something slightly unusual.

"Jopson, a glass of whiskey, for the lieutenant and myself."

Thomas Jopson. That was it.

The man half turned. "Yes, Sir. Right away--" his eyes went as wide as saucers, the same moment Edward's did the same, plush lips left parted. Thankfully, their captain seemed completely absorbed in inspecting the cabin's preparations.

Was this some cruel illusion? Some trick of Edward's parched mind? It must have been reality, for this beautiful phantom, now neatly wrapped in Naval broadcloth and illuminated by panes of gleaming sunlight, summoned a bottle from the depths of another cupboard and poured two glasses of amber spirits.

He knew it would take all his strength to keep away from Thomas, to restrain himself from attempting to reignite their shared passions.

But perhaps he had no need to be strong.

Their fingers brushed, as Thomas passed him a cut-crystal glass, pale eyes silently speaking volumes. Uncertainty. Hope. Something else, nameless and warm. To Edward, that first swallow of whiskey tasted like the sweetness of honey.

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly not historically accurate because Little and Jopson may have served together on a previous voyage (I can't remember tbh) but I suppose my excuse is that this is fanfiction for the AMC characters, and certainly not their historical counterparts, so that gives us a lot of free reign here folks. Also, I did wayyy too much research on whale oil for something mentioned so briefly.


End file.
